


Body of Lies

by Pearls1975



Category: James Bond (Movies), SPECTRE (2015), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearls1975/pseuds/Pearls1975
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and James put aside their stubborn natures to save John Watson from the second most dangerous man in London.  But why is James Bond interested in saving John?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boom!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a BBC Sherlock/SkyFall-Bond that was inspired by a prompt I found on Tumblr. I do have more, however it is stored in my mind attic for now. I wanted to post this to see what kind of reaction I receive.  
> Edit: A sweet person http://archiveofourown.org/users/watsonsdick/pseuds/watsonsdick made me a cover for this fic! Makes me so happy! See it here: http://watsonsdick.tumblr.com/post/117084580187/art-cover-request-by
> 
> I do not have a Beta, so any criticism, if written well, will be taken generously.

“Holmes? What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“I’m helping you to find the men who have John.”

“Over my dead body.”

“That would be completely agreeable to me, Commander Bond.”

“You would like that wouldn’t you, Holmes?” Bond adjusted his stance as he looked around the barren warehouse, taking in all the shadows, making sure none of them moved. “Besides, aren't you supposed to be dead?”

“I could say the same for you.” Sherlock followed the others gaze. The tension reminded him of the standoff he had with Moriarty at the swimming pool. Except this man wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him upon arrival. “Couldn't stay away, could you. Always the bleeding heart for M.” 

Bond glanced around again. “Looks like we have the same objective, then.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Bond. “What the hell do you want with John Watson?”

Bond smirked. “Looks like Mycroft doesn’t share all of his secrets with his little brothers.”

“How are you-” Sherlock swallowed. “Wait, you said brothers…?”

Bond raised his brow in surprise and opened his mouth to say something, when a noise to their left caught their attention. Both men silently aimed their guns in the direction. It sounded like a small rodent scratching around, but neither man wanted to take that chance. Bond glanced at Sherlock as they nodded at one another. Bond made a couple gestures and Sherlock pursed his lips. He hated taking orders from anyone, but he knew that Bond would be the one to get them out, alive. Nodding at Bond, Sherlock swept the area with his eyes and gun as Bond crouched and slowly walked in the direction of the noise. The warehouse was large and damp and dark, and Sherlock hated that he had no where to take cover. His back was against a cold steel wall; however, he was concealed in a shadow, and he kept his movements to a minimum. 

Bond however had to move between shadow and light to reach his destination of a rather large piece of machinery that Sherlock couldn't identify. Bond made a swift upward movement and almost as soon as he made a defensive stance, he relaxed and signaled to Sherlock that there was no threat. Sherlock let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding and swept the area with his eyes again. Bond gave more signals and Sherlock nodded. Drawing a deep breath, he crouched and ran along the wall, staying as much in the shadows as possible. He stopped before reaching the entrance to the warehouse. The fading light indicated that the sun was starting to set, and he knew they wouldn't have very much time. Looking back at Bond, he saw the man running across the warehouse and duck behind another large piece of machinery. 

'Damn,' Sherlock thought to himself. He glanced around, then managed a look outside. He saw four vehicles parked a relatively short distance away. An old Beamer was his, and he knew the black Mercedes was Bonds. The other two were a black suburban and a Volvo. So, where were the other parties? This was the warehouse he was given directions to-

A gunshot cut through his thoughts as he cursed himself for over-thinking his situation and not paying attention to the here and now. He saw a profile that was not Bonds, racing towards the spot where he had seen Bond disappear. Another gunshot and the man went down. Sherlock crouched and dodged machinery and large metal chains and hooks hanging from the ceiling. A movement to his right caught his attention as he glanced over in time to see the firing of a side arm and he dropped and rolled and stood and bumped into another human. He turned with his gun cocked just as Bond whispered his name loudly, then:

“Vatican Cameos!”

Sherlock ducked just as Bond fired his gun. The detective simultaneously swept his leg out and knocked a man over. Just as Sherlock was straightening himself, the man recovered from the sweep and caught Sherlock in a tight sleeper hold. His vision was starting to swim as he heard a man's voice.

“Well, well, well,” the voice had a slight Australian accent and Sherlock recognized instantly as his target, Sebastian Moran. “I suppose I should be flattered, with two of England’s finest men after me. But since you two are in a jam, now, I only consider myself lucky. I'll make sure I tell M and Mycroft that you two send their love-”

Before he could finish, a deafening explosion rocked the back of the warehouse, the force of the explosion knocking Sebastian into Sherlock, and the man holding him, onto their backs. The man was knocked unconscious, but Sebastian was disorientated as Sherlock tried to dislodge himself from the arms of the man who had him in the sleeper hold. Sebastian, realizing where he was, smiled down at Sherlock and started choking him. Sherlock brought his knee up into the other man and Sebastian loosened his grip long enough for Sherlock to roll from underneath him. A thick black smoke was starting to fill the air as Sherlock searched the area for his gun and for Bond. He was tackled by Sebastian and cold clocked three times before being pulled off by James Bond. Sherlock groaned and tried to clear his head of the pain as Bond and Sebastian threw punches at each other. A gunshot ripped through the air as the smoke became thicker. Sebastian threw one last punch at Bond and ran for the warehouse exit. Sherlock rose from his stupor and watched Sebastian's profile disappear into the black smoke. He took off like a shot after the man. 

“Holmes, it's not worth it.” Bond yelled as Sherlock ran after Sebastian. 'Damn.'


	2. Cocky Bastards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not have a Beta, so any criticism, if written well, will be taken generously.

“Bond?” Q's barely audible voice broke through the static and crackling. It hurt James's ear so bad, he almost ripped the earpiece out of his ear.

“Q? Where have you been?” James said through coughing fits as he ran out of the warehouse to escape the acrid smoke that was filling the space. He bent over and coughed more, eventually getting his breathing under control. 

“I lost contact as soon as you walked into that warehouse. Whatever was in there blocked our signal.” Q paused. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” James said as he coughed one last time and stood up straight. 

The setting sun cast an orange glow over everything. He spotted Sherlock walking toward him on the dirt road that ran between the two warehouses.

“What happened?” 

“I ran into an old colleague.” James smirked as he leaned against his Mercedes and scanned the immediate area. Sensing something was wrong, he stood straight again. 

“Something is missing.” 

“What?” Q said. Bond thought he heard the faint tap of a keyboard in his earpiece. 

“Nothing. Our signal is much stronger outside of the warehouse.” James watched as a dusty and exhausted looking Sherlock Holmes approached him.

“This Moran fellow is clever. He knew whatever was in that warehouse would block our signal.” 

“He is the second most dangerous man in London.” James said as Sherlock frowned at him. “Listen, Q, do you have a signal on the GPS I planted on that SUV?” 

Sherlock's eyebrows went up in surprise. 'Quartermaster?' He mouthed to James as he nodded in the affirmative. 

“Yes...but there is something you should know,” Q paused.

“Spit it out Q!”

“There are three heat signatures in that SUV, one of which could be curled up in the fetal position in the very back.”

“Shit!”

Sherlock watched as James ran back into the warehouse and his thoughts turned to panic mode again. 'Where the hell is John? And what does Bond want with him.'

The smoke cleared out of the warehouse just enough for James to see the body of one of Moran's minions laying dead on the warehouse floor. James never bothered to count how many people he wrestled with earlier. If he had to wager a guess, it would have been three. So, was the third heat signature in that vehicle, John Watson? 

“Damn!” He swore as he walked out of the warehouse. “We need to follow that SUV.” 

“We'll never catch up to it.” 

“You'll never catch up to that vehicle!” 

“Jesus, I finally hear the resemblance.” James remarked as Sherlock and Q spoke at the same time.

“What?” 

“Nothing.” James shook his head. “That's why I have you tracking them, Q. Keep your focus on them.”

“James what di-” James disconnected from Q as he opened the door to his car.

“Wait!” Sherlock called as he tilted his head toward the car, as if listening to something. He ducked to look underneath the car. James frowned and started to duck when Sherlock straightened.

“There's a bomb attached to the underside of your car.”

“How did-”

“Never mind,” Sherlock brought the keys to the car he drove, out of his pocket and tossed them into the air. James walked by and caught them mid-air.

“There can be only one cocky bastard on this mission.” James smirked and winked at Sherlock who stood motionless, a look of confusion on his face.

“Let's go!” James called as he got into Sherlock's car. “No time to ponder the possibilities.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and got into the car just as James turned it over and took off. 

“This is quite the disguise, Sherlock. Not sure I've seen you go to such lengths.” Bond gestured to Sherlock. “You are lucky I remember your mannerisms enough. I almost shot you back there.”

Sherlock ran a hand through his short blond hair. “This disguise is pointless now that Moran knows where I am.”

“Yeah, and is John going to buy it?”

Sherlock threw James a piercing glare.

“I know everything about you and John, so don't worry about that. You were put back on the MI6 radar the instant Mycroft budged his fat nose into the Parkington plans-” Bond tapped his earpiece twice. “Q what have you got for me?”

“First of all thank you for cutting me off, very mature of you-”

“QUINN!” Bond yelled, then pursed his lips and took a deep breath through his nose. 

“Quinn?” Sherlock closed his eyes to try to recall what that name meant to him. 

“Who do you have in your passenger seat, Bond?” Quinn said in a quiet tone. Bond cocked an eyebrow as he glanced over at Sherlock. 

“The colleague I talked about earlier. Jealous?”

“Why are you lying to me?”

Bond frowned. “I'm not lying to you.”

“Why won't you tell me the identity of the man in your passenger seat?” 

Bond heard the tick tick of the keyboard on Quinn's end. 

“It's a matter of national security.” 

Q was silent, and that never settled well with Bond. 

“Speaking of the passenger seat,” he glanced over at Sherlock who had his head in his hands. “We're not exactly in my car any more. I need you to start my car.” 

More silence greeted the agent.

“Um, why do you need me to start your car if you aren't in it?” Q finally chimed in.

“Just do it Q, I'll explain later. I'll explain everything later.”

A pause, and then, “Okay, done.” 

Bond looked into the rear view mirror and saw a faint glow on the horizon behind them. 

“Did you just command Q to blow up your car?” Sherlock's voice took the agent by surprise and he furrowed his brow at him. He also heard Q in his ear:

“Did I just blow up the G-19?” 

Bond smirked. “Yes, and yes I did.” 

“They are male, British, from London, about six foot, six foot one-”

“Quinn, please drop it. And for your own good, please don't research them.” James Bond tapped his earpiece twice and disconnected.

“Quinn is...a step-brother.” The glow of London's lights came into view as Sherlock spoke.

“Yes, I am surprised Mycroft hasn't mentioned him before.” 

“Mycroft has mentioned him. However that was before...before even all of this mess.”

“Before MI6?” 

“Yes.” The word was tight in Sherlock's throat. It was not lost on James as he looked over at the man in the passenger seat for the thousandth time. The night made the normally hardened man that Bond remembered, look vulnerable, and exhausted.

“When was the last time you slept?” 

“Not important.” Sherlock gestured, as if waving the mans words away. 

Bond gave an exasperated sigh. “That is the exact reason you were pulled from the-...that case. Your personal habits and the case requirements were not going hand in hand.” 

“When was the last time you slept, Mr. Bond?” Sherlock turned his piercing gaze on the driver. He knew that James couldn't see it, but he had been told once that his gaze could be felt in a pitch black room. 

James was silent for a beat. “My insomnia is trained and ingrained. Yours came from a chemical concoction.” 

“Seven-percent.” 

“What?”

“It was a seven-percent solution that I used. I found that it was-”

“Sherlock I don't care if it was an eighty-percent solution! You started using. It was a disappointment...to a lot of people.” He had said the last part under his breath, but he knew Sherlock had heard him. 

“Yes, I was constantly reminded of that everyday. I got over it. Sentiment is a chemical defect.”

Bond frowned as he heard Sherlock sigh deeply. It was a sign of three things; him shooting up, him falling asleep, and one that Bond was still unsure happened, but a sign that he was getting off. Bond was certain that sleep had finally found Sherlock Holmes.


	3. The Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and James put aside their stubborn natures to save John Watson from the second most dangerous man in London. What is on the microchip? And Q's family is suddenly extended.

The drive back to London consisted of Q's soft voice in Bond's ear, giving him directions to the final destination of the SUV, pestering him about his passenger. Bond didn't need Q having any emotional attachment to this case. He wasn't sure how long that was going to last, however, since Q's family was involved. Bond often wondered why Mycroft never told anyone about Quinn, their long lost step-brother, then again, Bond just recently learned that Mycroft and Sherlock were brothers. James Bond never dug into family history, his own being a mystery to himself. 

Quinn was smart and he had access to all the latest technology. Bond knew that it was a matter of time before the doe-eyed boy would find out the truth about his family. What he would do with that information bothered Bond the most. Would he take it and turn on his brothers, or would he embrace it, and accept the fact that his family works for the British Government and he does too? Only time wou;d tell.

Sherlock's soft snores brought James Bond out of his reverie about Q and into another. James wasn't one to reminisce, but he would admit to missing the old Sherlock. The one before the drugs and violence took over, making him the cold calculating man in the passenger seat. A recognizable softness had crept into Sherlock's eyes that was there back in the days they would work together. His mind always sharp and always calculating, even when the drugs had their way with him. This was always surprising to James, since he had no idea Sherlock had been using; he should have been the first one to notice, to see the signs, to witness Sherlock shooting up, or snorting, or smoking, or whatever it was that he did to get high. They had been flatmates at one point, forced to live with each other because of Mycroft's insistence and a hit that MI6 had put on someone named Moriarty. Mycroft was certain that Jim Moriarty had it in for his brother, but for what reason, James never knew, nor did he push the issue; Mycroft never talked about personal life.

James pulled the car to the curb four cars behind the SUV. He surveyed his surroundings. The neighborhood was middle to upper class and most of the flats were secured by some sort of professional security agency. The streetlights were just bright enough for James to see what was going on, however, the one lamp above the SUV was out.

“Convenient,” the agent muttered under his breath.

“What is?” Sherlock's voice rumbled throughout the car as he sat up and looked around. “Hmm...must've fallen asleep. How long was I out and where are we?”

“Thirty minutes, and we are in the Greenwich area.”

Sherlock said nothing as he and James watched two men step out of the SUV and walk to the rear. Their view of them was hidden by the cars in front of them, but they could see the doors opening. One of the men backed up onto the sidewalk, briefly glanced around the area, then nodded as he pulled a gun from inside his jacket and pointed to whomever was in front of him. He started backing up slowly, glancing around. A small figure then followed the man onto the sidewalk.

“John...” Sherlock whispered. James could see him tensing in the passenger seat.

“Easy Sherlock,” the agent whispered back. “We don't want to jump the gun.”

They watched as the taller figure pushed John in his back with the gun in his hand. John didn't fight back. 

“Moran.” James and Sherlock whispered at the same time.

“Q, I need a blueprint of the building Moran is going into, immediately.” James ordered. 

“You should have a copy in ten seconds.”

James and Sherlock held their breaths until the men were inside the building.

“Do you have a cell on you?” James whispered as he brought his out.

“Yes,” Sherlock reached inside his jacket and brought out his cell, only to find that it was dead. He cursed under his breath. 

“It's fine,” James handed over his cell to Sherlock. “Take that blueprint to heart.”

James glanced around. The only thing that had changed was a dim light had been turned on on the top floor. A curtain was thrown to the side as a silhouette looked out. James held his breath as lights appeared in the rear view.

“Slowly slide down in your seat.” James said through gritted teeth. 

Sherlock hummed his agreement as he did as he was told. James reached under his seat for a gun, as he watched a dark colored SUV, similar to the one four cars ahead, drive past and park further ahead, across the street. James checked to make sure the gun was loaded. Sherlock reached inside his own jacket pocket for his gun and checked it. Only one bullet fired. 

They watched silently as three men in dark coats exited the SUV, crossed the street and entered the building.

“There is a fire escape that leads up to the second floor. I don't think the front door is very secure, and I don't see any heat signatures indicating anyone staged at the door.” Q informed Bond.

“Thanks Q.” James whispered, then to nodded in the direction of the building as he spoke to Sherlock. “Front door.” 

Sherlock nodded, opened his door, glanced around, then nodded at James to follow. Ducking in and out of shadows, they made their way to the door of the building. James turned the knob slowly and pushed the door in. The faint smell of musty furniture and stale urine wafted out to them as James stepped inside the door into an unknown room. He swept the room with his gun twice and signaled for Sherlock to enter. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light streaming in from a street light in one window and the moon in another, they found themselves in an abandoned living area. Ahead of them was a flight of stairs with a landing and a street light in the back alley streaming amber light onto the staircase. Stepping lightly, they made their way to the stair case and stopped when they heard a man yelling. Then a gunshot, stopping them both halfway up the stairs. Another gunshot and the sounds of a struggle. Then silence. 

James and Sherlock looked at each other and started up the stairs again, only to be stopped by a wail of pain and a curse. 

“John...” Sherlock said under his breath. James placed a hand on his arm to stop him from running blindly up the stairs. They listened for a second more, then James moved forward, gun at the ready. Pausing at the landing, they heard voices coming from behind one of two doors on the second floor. James tested the next set of stairs and made his way up to the second floor and to his right, hiding in the shadows. Sherlock saw him give the signal to follow. They hid in the shadows, waiting for a moment to strike. 

“Q...how many are upright in that room?” 

“Three.” 

James frowned. 

“Moriarty was a clever bastard.” Moran's voice could be heard loud and clear. “I'm glad I took your advice.”

“What should we do about him?” Another male voice with a heavy Irish accent spoke. 

“John Watson has served his purpose.”

The cocking of a gun could be heard and Sherlock leaped at the door and was inside the room before James could stop him. He heard a gunshot as Moran and another man burst through the door, knocking James off balance. They took the stairs two at a time. Bond orientated himself and leaped over the railing and down the first flight. Moran and the other were already in the second S.U.V and down the street. Bond read the license to Q as he turned and walked back into the building. 

Wiping his brow, he saw Sherlock pacing the room around three bodies on the floor. In the middle of the room, John was laying on his stomach, topless and bleeding. He stepped closer and saw that Sherlock had dressed the wound. It was located right below the shoulder blade. Bond started to look around the body for the initial reason he was after John Watson. 

“Looking for this?” Bond hadn't noticed that Sherlock had stopped pacing and was holding a small plastic bottle with a microchip inside. The fiery anger in Sherlock's bright green eyes was unmistakable, even in the dim light. 

“Listen, Sherlock, I-”

“NO! You listen!” Sherlock drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. “That is my friend laying on that table. He was hunted because of a chip that was placed in his back. Hunted by you, hunted by Moran, hunted by God know who else. I faked my death so that maniac wouldn't find him. I faked my death for queen and country...” Sherlock started to laugh maniacally, as he twirled and found himself facing John. “I failed you John...”

“Sherlock...” his voice was weak, and John started moving and groaning. “Oh, that sodding hurts.” 

“John, don't move too much.” James stepped to the other side of John. “We don't know the extent of your injuries.” 

“We? Who are-” John looked at James and an alarm went off in his head. “James Bond?”

“So you remember?”

“Vaguely and unfortunately.” John groaned. “I think a couple of my ribs are busted.”

“How do you two know each other?” Sherlock said before he could stop himself. 

“I...am dreaming.” John turned his head toward Sherlock. “I only hear your voice in dreams.” 

He started when he laid eyes upon Sherlock. “You have blond hair?” 

“John, I-”

“You are hallucinating, the pain is making you hallucinate.” James grabbed one of his arm. “But we need to get out of here. Gun fire carries is a quiet neighborhood like this. Can you sit up?” 

“I-I'll try.” John winced as he tried to lift himself and sit up. “Yep, definitely broke a rib.”

“Hey! Find something to wrap his midsection. I'll make sure this wound gets dressed properly.” He tapped his earpiece. “Q, I need directions to John Watson's flat.”

“Nice of you to check in.” Q paused in his sarcasm. “Did you say John Watson?” 

James gritted his teeth. “Yes, Q, I need those directions.”

“But isn't he-”

“Q, stop asking questions.” James walked out of the room and found a bathroom at the end of the hall. The plumbing had been destroyed and there was a large hole were the toilet should have been. He tested the floor and stepped lightly to the medicine cabinet. There were only a few items left and bandages were one of them. 

“Yes. There are two addresses 221B Baker St. and 509 Paddington Lane.” Q told him as he navigated back to the room John and Sherlock were in. John was staring at Sherlock and Sherlock was pacing.

“Great, send both.” James paused to calm his frustration. “Sherlock! Wrap him up! Now!”

“You...really are...alive...you...” John started to waver and James caught him and lifted his arms. Sherlock shed his jacket and gently wrapped it around John's midsection.

“You aren't Sherlock Holmes. You have blonde hair. You are too bulky to be Sherlock Holmes.” John's speech was slurred.

It took all of Sherlock's will power not to recall the sleepless nights and the seven percent solution that he used to keep his pain at bay. But being without someone whom you are used to having beside you all the time, was a hard adjustment that Sherlock never thought he would have to go through. 

James grabbed at where his phone should be, and a surge of panic washed over him. 

“I forgot to give it back to you.” Sherlock was standing with the phone in hand. Bond frowned at him as he took the phone and entered his code.

“Baker street is closer, we'll stay there for the night.” 

“No.” 

It was simultaneous and sudden.

John frowned at Sherlock then turned to James. “I haven't been back there for a while. I dunno if I can spend a night there.”

Sherlock bit his thumb and turned away. 

James walked around the metal table that John was sitting on to talk to him face to face. 

“Listen to me John, I need you to reach beyond all that mental pain that you are hiding in that little brain of yours and focus on the here and now. This physical pain you are feeling could've been ten times worse, or you could be dead right now, if we hadn't been following you.”

“I wish I was dead.” 

James ignored him and moved on. 

“I need you to be strong. There is something that is keeping you here. Someone or something special that wants you here, living and breathing and that loves you. Draw on that John Watson.”

Sherlock turned wet eyes to John who looked up at James like he was crazy. A change came over his face, as if a revelation had hit him.

“Mary.” 

'Shit,' James muttered under his breath. “Can she meet us at Baker Street? And does she know where you are?” 

“How long have I been gone?”

“Two days, 10 hours and 43 minutes.” Sherlock said as he looked at his watch. 

“Two days.” John said as he looked at Sherlock. “It took two days to get me out of that flat. I can't go back.” 

James ran his hand over his face, when a sound outside the empty house grabbed his attention. 

“Sirens! We need to get out of here.” James grabbed John's shirt as Sherlock helped John off the table. They dressed him, and swiftly descended the stairs. James gauged the sirens were far enough away that they could make a clean get away without anyone seeing them.

“Take this,” the agent threw his earpiece to Sherlock. “Q will give you directions to find Moran. We need him alive, Sherlock.” 

“This...yes this is a good idea.” Sherlock tossed the earpiece into the air, then clipped it over his ear. 

Bond watched Sherlock as he stepped into the SUV that they followed to the scene. James dragged John to the car they arrived in and took off in the direction of Baker street. 

“Hello, Quinn,” Sherlock said as he started the vehicle. Q didn't respond right away and the former detective could the clacking of fingers on a keyboard. 

“Who is this? Mycroft is the only one that calls me Quinn, that knows my real name-” 

“I'm sorry we have to meet like this, but I am Mycroft's younger brother, and your step-brother.”


	4. Deceit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James military history with John is revealed and his emotional state is tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive." ~Sir Walter Scott~

James Bond sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was stopped at a traffic signal and he looked over at John. James hated that he had taken this case. Nothing was ever easy when it came to John Watson, especially after being tagged in Afghanistan. 

James had been sent to Afghanistan on an under cover mission after data and encrypted information had revealed that someone had sold a prototype of a specialized weapon to arms dealers in the Middle East. With the help of computer and weapons specialists, they found the source of the weapons deals and James brought that source down. He had been assigned to John's unit and on their way back to base camp, they were attacked. John was shot in the shoulder as he was attending to another wounded soldier. James had seen the other guy as soon as he appeared over the dune, but couldn't react fast enough with the sand and dirt blowing in his face. He shot the guy as he ran toward his position and caught him in the shoulder. The other guy only slowed a beat. As much as he didn't want to, James had to let him go. He came up on the position where the guy shot from and found something shiny sticking out of the sand. He reached down and dug up the object, finding that it was a small, silver ammo box. James heard his name being called as he looked in the box. The ammo was part of the specialized weapons that James had been sent to destroy. He swore under his breath as he realized they had destroyed only part of the spider's web there in Afghanistan; that the rest lay in wait somewhere else, ready to wrap itself around it's prey. 

James ran back to the mobile unit.

“We have to get out of here and we have to get that bullet out of John's shoulder now!” James yelled at one of the soldiers helping John. “Go tell the Captain! I'll help John.”

“I'm fine, I've got this!” John yelled back.

“No! You're bleeding profusely. This soldier is going to be okay. You've done good work here!” James helped John place the soldier on a stretcher and they loaded him onto one of the vehicles. 

As soon as they took off, James started unbuttoning and unfastening Johns uniform.

“Hey,” John tried to fight James off, but suddenly became dizzy and light-headed. “Oh...I need to sit...” 

As soon as John sat down, James made fast work at getting the other's fatigues and under armour off. John moaned as James found some gauze and cotton and tools and started working on John's shoulder.

“Ow...wot the hell...” John's words were slurred and he was swaying. 

“Stay with me John,” James said breathlessly, working to get the bullet out without doing any major damage. With the vehicle moving and jerking, it was a slow process. 

“I have to get this out or they will find our location. The bullet in your shoulder has a specialized tracking system embedded in it.”

“It...it feels like I have...the whole gun jammed in my shoulder...jeezus...” John squeezed his eyes shut.

“Almost have it,” James finally pulled out the bullet and tossed it through the window out to the dessert.

 

“Mmm...” John's groans brought James from his reverie and he looked at the dashboard clock. He only lost two minutes. 

“Where are we?” John asked through gritted teeth. A pain shot like white lightning through his body. 

“Close to getting help for you.” James said as he turned his attention to the street ahead of him.

“Why is it every time you and I meet, I'm always in serious pain?” 

“Most people I meet end up in pain.”

John furrowed his brow at James, watching his profile in the streetlights. The pain became overbearing and he closed his eyes to try to shut it out.

James drove around the Baker street block, making sure no one had followed them. He finally parked, got out and opened John's side to help him out of the car.

“If...I wasn't in so much pain,” John started between grunts. “I would fight you to...take-”

The door opened before James could reach it. He started for his gun.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson's sweet voice made James reconsider his decision about the gun. “What happened to John?”

“Mrs. Hudson, James Bond,” John grunted an introduction.

“We were in a little situation.” James nodded and smirked.

“I swear, I leave for vacation and you get yourself in a bind.” Mrs Hudson shook her head and gestured for them to follow her. 

“I haven't changed anything since you moved out, John,” Mrs Hudson explained as she ascended the stairs to the flat. “Sherlock's brother had to come in and take care of most of his items. He also paid me three years of rent. I was so shocked. I was speechless. I will admit, I had a very hard time going in here the first year, but Mycroft asked me to enter the flat to make sure nothing had been disturbed, since it hadn't been entered in about a year.” 

The elder woman stopped and opened the door. 

“Here you go boys.”

John groaned and shut his eyes. The last time he had stepped foot in the flat, he had a nervous breakdown and ended up breaking a window. He smirked internally thinking about Mycroft and his squinty face turning his nose up at the window. 

“Just put me on the couch,” John paused and gritted his teeth. “I can't do any more stairs.” 

James guided him to the couch and helped him to sit.

In the meantime, Mrs Hudson had fetched some medical tape and pain killers and was at James's side as he helped John take off his shirt. 

“I'll put on the kettle,” Mrs. Hudson turned and walked to the kitchen. 

John took the three pain killers and drank the rest of the water that Mrs. Hudson brought.

“Do you remember anything that happened to you?” James asked as he took the old gauze off the wound, daubed alcohol on it, and redressed with the fresh gauze.

“The last thing I remember is a sleek black car pulling up alongside me.” John hissed as James applied the alcohol. “That's usually Mycroft. I got in thinking nothing of it and the next thing I know I have a cloth over my face and everything is black.” 

John stopped as James signaled him to lift his arms and he untied the jacket that Sherlock had tied around his ribs. 

“The pain was making me hallucinate wasn't it?” John asked between grunts. 

James furrowed his brow at the injured man as he wrapped his ribs. 

“That wasn't Sherlock at that house was it? I mean, that man had blond hair and glasses and was a lot bulkier than Sherlock, but I would recognize those eyes anywhere.” 

James stayed silent. He didn't want to fuel any more of John's mental anguish. Sherlock would reveal himself in his own way, on his own time. 

“Am I daft? To miss someone so much that it hurts?” John closed his eyes and groaned as James finished wrapping and drew in a deep breath.

“No, you aren't daft.” Was all that James said as he stood. Before he could walk away, Johns hand wrapped around his wrist. James looked down at John.

“Thank you. Thank you for saving my life.” 

James nodded and tried to walk away again, but John still had a grip on his wrist. 

“John,” James's voice had a warning edge to it. 

“I-...there was something else I wanted to say to you,” Johns eyes closed, and he he started to sway to the left. “I can't remember.”

“John, lie down.” James grabbed his feet as John's head drifted to the small pillow on the couch. 

“Oh, he's out.” Mrs. Hudson said as she set a tray with tea on the side table.

“Pain killers took effect.” James smiled a small smile at Mrs. Hudson. 

“Yes, poor dear.” The elder woman started pouring the tea and James excused himself to go out to the car and grab Sherlock's phone. He hoped that there would be a charger in the flat, maybe even the car. He opened the glove compartment. Nothing there but registration and other paperwork for the car. He glanced at the registration. Molly Hooper was the name there and James wondered if Sherlock was into stealing cars now. 

“Mrs. Hudson,” James started when he was in the flat again. “Do you know a Molly Hooper?”

“Oh, sweet, sweet woman. Works at St. Barts, where Sherlock used to go to do...what ever it was he did.”

“Thank you.” James said, then held up Sherlock's dead phone. “Do you mind if I look in Sherlock's room for a charger?”

“Oh no. Of course dear. It's down the hall. He might still have something in there since I've never stepped in there to clean. Too many memories, etc.”

James nodded and walked down the hall. The door wasn't shut all the way and James pushed the door open to a nondescript room. A periodic chart hung on the wall to his right, a bookshelf on the wall facing him, and on the far wall was a chest of drawers. On that chest of drawers was a picture and James walked around the bed to get a closer look. He immediately recognized a young Mycroft; probably in his early twenties, which would make Sherlock in his teens. James hadn't realized the similarities in Sherlock and Quinn, until he saw that picture. 

James cursed himself for getting distracted. 

Sleep was in order, and very soon.

He checked Sherlock's side table for a charger and was greeted with the wonderful sight of one in the top drawer. Reaching behind the side table he found an outlet and plugged in the charger, and was about to plug in the phone, when he heard a noise from the rooms outside Sherlock's room. He paused and thinking it was probably Mrs. Hudson, James plugged in Sherlock's phone, watching it come to life. All the while, keeping his senses honed in on the rooms outside. 

James almost dropped the phone when he saw there was a text from his own phone. He never texts and he knew right away this one was from Sherlock. 

'Sweep the flat. You and/or John bugged.' Was all it said.

'Crap,' James said under his breath and ran out only to find John sleeping peacefully and nothing disturbed. 

He swept the room with his eyes. 

Still, nothing disturbed, and yet, something wasn't right. He reached for his gun inside his jacket and backed up until the backs of his knees were against the couch where John was sound asleep. He knew better than to back himself into a corner, but he was determined to keep John safe. He got this man into this, he was going to get him out, alive. Sweeping the gun over the room, he knelt to where he had tossed the jacket that Sherlock had wrapped around John and dug in the pockets, twice. He checked John's shirt, and patted John's trousers carefully, only disturbing him slightly. 

'Dammit,' James said under his breath. 'Think! Where the hell could they have-'

James patted himself down. Located underneath the lapel of his jacket was a microchip the same size as the one that was in John's back. He swore under his breath and threw the chip down and lifted his leg, but thought twice about smashing it. Picking it up, he placed it back under his lapel. John shifted as James carefully walked over to the windows at the front of the room. He parted the sheer curtains with his gun. The only thing moving was a man walking his dog. Craning his neck, he thought he saw the tail lights of a black SUV turn from Baker street. He looked up at the building across the street. It showed signs of an explosion in the last few years and it looked like the flats had been recently let. Except for one; up two floors from the window that James was looking out and to the left. 

Craning his neck, he thought he saw the tail lights of a black SUV turn from Baker street. A movement on the street caught James's attention. It was the dog he had seen earlier and it was barking at-

James heard the door downstairs open and cursed at himself for the distractions.

Sleep was needed. And soon.

He heard Mrs. Hudson stop whomever it was on the stairs.

James threw a glance at John and rushed down the hall to Sherlock's room. He sent a text, then unplugged the charger and threw it and the phone into his jacket pocket. 

“James! John!” 

“Shut up old woman!” 

James heard them shouting as they entered the flat and he entered the hall. 

“Well, isn't that sweet,” Sebastian Moran said as he walked to the center of the flat. “Little John sleeping peacefully. I know your weaknesses Sherlock! I should have pulled the trigger on all three of them when I had the chance.” 

James heard Mrs. Hudson gasp as a gun was cocked. 

“Moriarty was a fake.” James said, aiming his gun at Moran's head.

Both men turned their guns on James. 

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson started. Moran's henchman had his hand over Mrs. Hudson's mouth and his gun pointed at her head. 

James kept his gun pointed at Moran.

“No? I know what will bring Sherlock out of the shadows!” Moran stepped backwards and pressed the gun to John's head. “Check. Your move, Sherlock!”

“Sherlock isn't here, Moran.” James could hear Mrs. Hudson's muffled protests. Sherlock Holmes is dead.”

“Ha! Don't play games with me, James Bond. I saw him. Saw him with my own two eyes I did! He faked his death, somehow that bastard. Lucky I didn't put a bullet into his brainpan on his way down to that bloody sidewalk.” Moran tapped his head with his gun.

“Now, on the count of three, Bryant and I will shoot if Sherlock doesn't reveal himself. Three-”

“Are you sure that was Sherlock Holmes you saw at the warehouse, Moran?” James glanced at John, making sure he was, hopefully, still asleep. Moran glanced at him as well.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“The man you saw had blond hair and glasses. Sherlock has dark hair, is a lot skinnier and doesn't wear glasses. That's the man that Moriarty has you chasing all over creation, isn't it?”

The movement was subtle, but Moran twitched slightly at the mention of his bosses name. Bond would have missed it if he wasn't completely honed in on Moran. 

“Two.” Bond heard Bryant cock his gun and more of the elder woman's muffled protests. 

“It was Sherlock.” Moran hissed, his frustration was starting to show. “The eyes, I know those cruel eyes anywhere. The eyes that watched my boss die are the same eyes that are going to watch his best friend die.” 

Moran let out a laugh that sent a chill up James' spine.

“One!” He yelled as he pointed his gun at John.


	5. Monsters

The air became heavy and James felt as if he was walking on the bottom of the ocean. Everything was in slow motion and he couldn't move fast enough to stop Moran.

But when he heard the voice, everything sped up again.

“Wait!” A dark-haired young man cried as he ran through the doorway of the flat. 

“Quinn?” James said under his breath.

“Sherlock?” Moran took a double-take at the young man. “No, you're too young to be Sherlock.” 

“How do you know?” Quinn still had his hands up. “Have you ever seen me close up? Or just through your scope?” 

Moran squinted his eyes at Quinn. James furrowed his brow. If this was Sherlock's idea of getting them out of a tight spot, he didn't like it.

“It doesn't matter,” Moran gestured at Quinn and Bond. “You two are stalling. Kill John, lets get this over with.” 

“Wait! NO!” Both Q and James cried out. 

“I have the code you need,” Quinn started to take off his jacket when everyone turned their guns on him. James stepped toward the young man, but Bryant turned his gun on him. James clenched his jaw and it took all his self-control not to beat the man to a pulp. Quinn swallowed audibly and rolled up his sleeves. On the pale flesh of each arm were tattooed a distinct pattern of numbers. James always thought they were some weird thing the kids were doing these days.

Moran stepped up to the young man and grabbed his arm so hard Quinn grunted and winced. Moran looked up into the young man's face. It was true, he had only seen Sherlock through the scope of his gun, but he was pretty sure Sherlock was taller and skinnier, although not by much. 

“Who are you?” Moran squinted at him. “You have the right code, but...something's not right.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” Quinn's voice quivered and Moran pointed his gun at his forehead. James flinched. 

“Sherlock Holmes. I am Sherlock Holmes.” 

“I don't believe you. Shall we try again, eh?” 

Quinn drew in a shaky breath. 

“ANSWER ME!” Moran pressed the gun harder into the other's forehead. Mrs. Hudson jumped and mewled into Simon's hand. 

“I am Quinn Holmes. Sherrinford Quinn Holmes.” 

 

“Well, lookie here boys!” Moran took the gun away and made a parody of himself. “We have another Holmes brother on our hands. Moriarty would be entertained about this!” Moran barked a laugh. He ran a finger along the numbers on the others right arm. He licked his thumb and rubbed on one of the numbers, hard. 

His eyes traveled up to Quinns face as he protested. 

“Men, we have the code.” He grabbed Quinn as he struggled. Pointing the gun at the others head, he turned them both to face Bond. “Don't even think about following us! Bryant grab John, and Simon-” he gestured at Mrs. Hudson. “-do something about that.” 

James pursed his lips as he watched Bryant grab John Watson from the couch. He took a step toward John, when Simon whacked the poor old lady across the head and she fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Moran shot a new hole into the smiley face on the wall as the bullet whizzed by James's ear.

John grunted as soon as the gun went off and he blinked and looked around. The pain spread throughout his body and he groaned, loud. Moran backed up and stood beside Bryant. He looped his arm around Quinn's neck and patted Johns face. 

“Now, this oughta bring Sherlock back from the dead!” He barked a laugh and turned his focus back to Quinn, pointing his gun at his temple. “In the meantime, I'll keep this one occupied just for you, Bond!” 

He gestured with his head for the other two to leave and he followed, but paused in the doorway of the flat. 

“Thank you for leading us to the treasure!” His face broke out in a cruel grin as he dragged Quinn out of the doorway and down the stairs.

As soon as James heard the front door shut, he rushed to Mrs. Hudson's side, felt her pulse, and ran down the stairs and out into the street. 

Headlights zoomed up behind him as he whipped around gun in hand. 

“Get in the bloody car, Bond!” Sherlock's voice carried over the street. 

“Jesus Sherlock,” James' exasperation showed as he stepped in the car. Sherlock glanced at him as he took off in the same direction as Moran. “Not only is John's life in danger, but now our only eye in the sky is gone.” 

“Did you know the numbers on Quinn's arm are a Fibonacci sequence?” Sherlock's calm voice caught James off guard for a moment as he paused. “I have a sequence on the back of my thigh and Mycroft has his running along the length of his spine.”

“Sherlock, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, or what you've got planned,” James checked his gun. Two bullets left. He dug in the glove compartment as he went on. “but I don't like that Moran has my Quartermaster.” 

“Oh, he's your property now?” 

“Dammit Sherlock!” Bond drew in a deep breath through his nose. “Why the hell did you just give them our best asset?” 

“James Bond, I suggest you calm down and focus on the reason you were sent for one John Watson,” Mycroft's voice filled the car. 

James furrowed his brow as he paused in loading an extra clip. “Mycroft?”

“Yes, if we work together, we can get our people back.”

“What about M? Does she know?”

“She is aware and doing things on her end to get Q back.”

“What they don't have is the chip,” Sherlock brought the chip from his pocket. “They also don't know the order of the numbers.” 

“Good, you sent him in there to die.” James shook his head as he tried not to let his frustration get the better of him. 

“Bond, I need you to calm down,” Sherlock shifted as he placed the chip back in his pocket. He pushed the stage glasses to the top of his head and rubbed his face and eyes. “I do have a plan.”

James narrowed his eyes at the other. 

“Do you not care in the least that they also have John?” 

Sherlock's mind flashed back to an argument him and John had:

'There are lives at stake, Sherlock! Actual human lives. Jus...Just so I know, do you care about them at all?' 

'Will caring about them help save them?'

'Nope.'

'Then I'll continue not to make that mistake.'

'And you find that easy, do you?'

“Yes, very much,” the detective gave the agent a look that would have sent a lesser man running. “What bothers me more is the way you have gone after John; like a wolf stalks its prey. What else are you after John Watson for?” 

James quirked an eyebrow, intrigued at the question. John wasn't really his type, but if he had had his way in Afghanistan....

“If you think my pursuit of John Watson is anything other than professional, you are sadly mistaken. We have the same intentions. To save a friend and destroy Moriarty and his network.” James sighed as his phone rang. 

“Just what in the bloody hell do you think you are doing, Bond? And where is my quartermaster?” 

Sherlock glanced over at Bond as he maneuvered a corner. He could hear M's voice through James' phone.

“You're the one that sent me on this wild goose chase,” M was doing nothing for his patience as he gripped the bridge of his nose. “And our Quartermaster is leading us to the heart of this operation.” 

“Bond...do be careful. But please get Q back and tell brothers Mycroft and Sherlock I said hello to them. The agency does miss them and Agent C.”

“Sentiment, sir? It doesn't suit you.” 

Sherlock furrowed his brow and looked over at James. 

“It's never done anyone any good.”

“Sir?” 

M had already hung up, leaving James staring at a black phone. 

“Glad to hear M is still his impossible self.” Mycroft's voice flooded the car again. “However, he might have left us a clue. I'll get back to you.” 

“Wait what kind of clue?” 

It was Mycroft's turn to hang up on Sherlock.

“Sherlock?” 

“Hm...What?”

“Where's the SUV?” James gestured ahead of them when he didn't see the SUV.

“I have a GPS planted on Q. I locked it into both of our phones – which mine should be done charging-” he unplugged his phone and found it at 97%. “Close enough. Put yours on; this is a quick charge so yours should only take ten minutes.” 

“Sherlock, they've stopped moving,” James said, looking at the map on the phone. “Up here, next street, turn left then right then all the way down...”

As soon as Sherlock took the second turn, both men saw the SUV at the end of the street, turned over on its side, smoke or steam rolling from the front and Sherlock slowed down. 

“Wait,” James said as Sherlock stepped on the gas. “It might be a trap.” 

“I'm willing to take the risk.” 

The agent furrowed his brow at the detective whose eyes were locked on the SUV. 

“You're a bit crazier than I remember you.” James smirked as he reloaded Sherlock's gun. 

Sherlock parked a few meters away from the overturned SUV and they stepped out of the car and looked around. Not seeing or hearing anything, James signaled for Sherlock to cover him as he stalked toward the vehicle. He grudgingly agreed as his eyes darted over the area. 

James walked up on the rear of the vehicle first. The door was opened as he squatted and pointed his gun. No one. He did a quick search and with a second glance, noticed a small piece of paper. On it were the letters A.G.R.A. James pocketed the paper, signaled to Sherlock the rear was clear, and moved toward the front. 

Sherlock heard the sounds of London waking up from its slumber. He glanced over the area and looked at his watch. Four in the morning. 

'I owe you.' 

A small breeze made the hairs on the back of his neck rise, as Sherlock looked around for a source for the voice. 

Groaning he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Sleep soon.” He told himself. 

“Nobody but Bryant in the vehicle,” James said as he approached Sherlock and brought the piece of paper from his pocket. “There was this, though. Do those letters mean anything to you?” 

Sherlock blinked at the paper as a shiver ran down his back. 

“Yes, and I may have an idea where they are going,” he said as he got in the car. “Dial Mycroft.” 

“Yes,” Mycroft's voice filled the car again as Sherlock turned it around. 

“I need you to access the AGRA file, I need to know the location of Diachenko's weapons cache.”

“Would you mind letting me in on what's going on?” James said as he glanced in the side mirror. A car was following them, keeping its distance. “Also, we are being followed.” 

Sherlock swore as his eyes darted to the rear-view mirror. The car was several car lengths behind them, not close enough to be suspicious, but enough to follow if Sherlock took drastic measures, which he did. Jerking the car to the right, he turned into an alley way. 

“Still following,” 

“Damn,” he swore under his breath as he sped up and took the next left out of the alley, narrowly missing a delivery truck.

“If you take the next right then over the bridge and a left, you will be at the Diogenes Club.” Mycroft's voice filled the car again as Sherlock maneuvered the car around a pedestrian. “Park in front. I have a plan and another car waiting for you.” 

 

Sherlock and James watched in silence as an identical car pulled out ahead of them. The car that was following them, passed by moments later. The sky turned a chrome gray as the sun rose and the two men sat, waiting for a signal from Mycroft. 

“Go now, silver car at your 5 o'clock.”

As soon as they heard his voice, James and Sherlock quickly and quietly jumped out of their car and into the new car, a Jaguar; this time, with James driving. 

They drove into the heart of the city, past MI6 to the building that once housed Magnussen's offices and condo. Sherlock furrowed his brow as they drove around the side and parked the car. 

“Part of the building is under construction,” he said. 

“Yes, a securities analyst bought the building and is taking over,” Mycroft's voice flooded the Jaguar. “Bond, you should take note, this man has a lot of interest in the MI6 program, and not in a good way.”

James and Sherlock looked at each other with eyebrows raised. 

“Looks like I have some research to do when this is all said and done.” 

“Quite,” Sherlock said as he opened his door and stepped out of the car. Each of their phones pinged as they stepped up to each other. 

“Mycroft is as handy as Q,” James smirked. “Not quite as cute, however.” 

“Those are my brother's you are talking about,” Sherlock ran a hand through his dyed blond hair and adjusted his glasses. “Let's go find John and Quinn.” 

 

 

Johns head was spinning and his body felt like it had been used as a punching bag. As he opened his eyes, blurry images formed and he blinked to focus. He heard people talking somewhere else, but a voice coming from in front of him, startled him. 

“John! John,” Quinn tried to coax John awake. He was handcuffed and his legs were tied to a chair and he was facing John who was in the same predicament.

“Sherl-” John's vision kept swimming as he winced, but he could have sworn it was Sherlock sitting in front of him. “Sherlock?”

“No, I'm Quinn, Sherlock's little brother. But that's a long story. John you have to wake up!” 

“Quinn...little brother...” John grunted and tried to move his arms but found they were handcuffed behind his back. “Where are...we?”

“Some big glass building near downtown. It has a giant CM on the front,” Quinn licked his lips as his frustration mounted. “I would have thought this building would be the first to be demolished after Magnussen was killed.” 

“Magnussen?” John's vision finally focused as he laid eyes on the man sitting across from him. He was handsome and curly haired and pale like Sherlock, but he had coffee colored eyes and glasses. “You are...Sherlock and Mycroft's little...brother?” 

“Focus John,” Quinn sighed. “There are people in the next room that want to tear the skin off my arms and are holding you hostage, hoping Sherlock will come out of hiding. We need to focus on getting out of here somehow.”

“Sherlock? Out of hiding?” John cocked his head. “Sherlock is dead.”

Quinn raised his brows and opened his mouth to say something when a gun shot went off in the next room.

“Jesus,” Quinn started to hop with his chair to a nearby desk, hoping for a paper clip or a letter opener, maybe a knife. 

“It seems you've been brainwashed my friend,” he said as he swept the desk top with his eyes for anything to open the handcuffs.

In the meantime, John wiggled his legs and found his legs weren't tied to his chair. His hands were, however, handcuffed and tied. He stood, slowly getting his balance and walked over to the desk Quinn was rifling though with his nose. John hid a smirk at the comical scene in front of him. He turned slightly and managed to open the desk drawer. 

“Bob's your uncle! Paperclips!” Quinn exclaimed in a loud whisper. 

“'Bob's your...do people still say that?” John chuckled. Quinn was clearly the more sociable of the brothers, although not by much.

He managed to grasp a paper clip in his mouth and somehow drop it in John's hand before speaking. 

“It was the first thing-”

The door at the end of the cubicle farm opened and they froze for a moment. Realizing the person had their back to them, they went back to their former positions.

“Please make sure he's wrapped up carefully. I don't want blood stains in my new building.” 

The voice made the hair on John's neck rise and he almost dropped the paper clip. He drew in a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. 

“John Watson and Quinn Holmes,” 

John had to take a double-take at the man now standing to his right. He opened his mouth to say something, struggling to find the right words. 

“Mo-...Moriarty...”


End file.
